


The Temple

by wolfport



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Cults, Eldritch, Homebrew Content, Not Beta Read, Warlocks, basically a meetcute of how my gal met her patron :), but only alluded to - Freeform, except it’s not cute, the patron is the homebrew stuff btw i made it up lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22392010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfport/pseuds/wolfport
Summary: Libellus was a researcher. That much she could remember. That, and the being that she had made a pact with.//Basically just a narrative of my girl’s backstory & how she met her patron :) mostly just posting this to keep it archived for myself lol
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	The Temple

**Author's Note:**

> The formatting might’ve messed up when I pasted it, sorry!! I’m on my phone right now and I’ll fix it when I’m home :)

The tiefling slowly made her way through the foyer of the cave. The murals spanning its walls were large, to say the least, and she took extensive notes on every detail. As she delved further past the entrance, the chambers became more… organized, she would say, though that wouldn’t quite cut it. They were clearly meant to be organic, but they were still very obviously rectangular in shape, and each of them were identical to each other. There were clear cut doorways between each room, all with the same dimensions and rivets in the rock, down to the slightest scratches carved into them.  
  
Even weirder, she noticed as she leaned into one of the paintings, was that the murals weren’t even painted at all. The rock itself was colored all the way through, as if slicing off the top layer of uneven wall would produce an identical image beneath it. The content matter was another story. Images of people— they were vague shapes of different colors, but each distinctly had limbs, heads, and sometimes other features such as tails or horns— were scattered about. What was odd about them, however, was that they were all bowed down or waving their arms about in every single one of their appearances. They gathered around various shapes, ranging from frantic scribbles to full handprints to incredibly detailed eyes and mouths. The figure changed in each painting, but somehow she knew that it was all the same being.  
  
Something about it sparked a sense of familiarity in her. Maybe it had been in an old text she’d studied? Regardless, she attempted to copy the images down into her notebook. She had never been the best artist, but she did have an eye for translating pictures down for further study. Something about these pictures wouldn’t click, though, and she soon found herself covering a full page trying to get it to look just right. While other tombs had been extensively recorded in her book, her attempts at describing the pictures felt off this time. She shook her head and moved on to the other rooms, deciding that the excavation team she hadn’t waited for would have to figure it out for themselves.  
  
The descent wasn’t noticeable until she got as far back from the entrance as she could. When she looked back, she couldn’t see the entrance to any of the other rooms; instead, she was greeted with hard rock and a ramp ever so slight and twisting that it blocked anything else from sight. The air was noticeably damp, and she had barely noticed the dark until just now. She paused for a moment.  
  
Heading back and waiting would be the logical decision, of course, and the one that she would have ordinarily gone with, but she was already this far through. The logical decision would have to wait until her curiosity was sated. She turned her gaze back to the large archway she had stopped at. It was clearly stone brick this time, no longer keeping up the masquerade of a natural system in the earth. When she stepped into the room just past it, the realization came upon her that it was not some old underground village she had been exploring. It was a temple.  
  
The hall that had opened up in front of her stretched far enough that the back faded off into darkness. Despite the distance, stone pews started only a few feet away from the entrance and continued forward into the darkness. An old and tattered, but surprisingly well preserved, rug ran between them, forming the perfect carpet up to what she could only assume was the pulpit. She gingerly placed a foot on the rug, making sure that it wouldn’t fall apart beneath her feet, then continued forward.  
  
Sconces lined the walls, and as they lead her gaze upward she noticed the ceiling was curved, and tall enough that it could probably reach the surface. The murals did not spread into here, either. Whether it was out of respect or due to a sudden extinction was unknowable. As she walked forward, the darkness became… heavy, in a way. She couldn’t quite put a name on it, but she felt the room weighing her down, each step becoming more difficult than the last. As she neared the pulpit, still shrouded in shadow, her breaths became shallower. Now would be a good time to turn back, she thought. But something that was not herself willed her forward, and so she continued.  
  
Struggling was futile. The weight of her feet pressed through the carpet, knocking off layers of dust and ingraining it into the crevices of the stone brick floor. She wasn’t that far off from the pulpit— maybe a yard or so— but still it was dark. Her knees hit the floor suddenly, and her torso nearly came down with it. She could not turn her head to look behind her at the doorway she wished she hadn’t left. Her mind would not let her linger on the thought of the excavation team coming, of them being drawn down here by the same force and finding whatever was left of her body.  
  
The edges of the darkness slowly seeped away, though she was unsure of what could have lit the old torches. It progressed slowly, and she was unsure whether or not she was there for minutes or hours. But time still passed, and that was enough to put what was left of her mind at ease. She sat there, on her knees and unable to take her eyes off of the void overtaking the pulpit. Yes, she was sure that it was a void. That was the only word she could think of when looking at it.  
  
And then she saw The Everlasting.  
  
The darkness faded away entirely, and she was unsure of whether or not it had been dark to begin with. It must not have been; it was that entity that compelled her to continue onwards, and maybe she had been walking further into its grasp since she entered the cave. Despite its appearance, which she could not even begin to think of how she would write it in her journal, she felt life thrumming inside of it. Inside of her.  
  
She was also sure that its name was The Everlasting. Its presence overwhelmed her, imbued her with all that it wanted to convey. It was called The Everlasting. It was not from this plane. And it wanted something from her. A question? She tried to listen for its question, she knew that it was asking one, but it made no sound.  
  
Her eyes could not focus on its form. It shifted, ever so slowly, from pure darkness and a vague presence to a mass of writhing hands and tentacles. It blinked, but it had no eyes. And then it stared at her with eyes that were not there a moment ago. Her attention was brought away from taking in the sight, as if it had noticed it had been seen and didn’t want to be. When she looked back, it was now flesh and a crude mockery of her own reflection. It dripped, almost made of liquid wax, and its face was not that of a person. The skin was too smooth, or maybe too rough, and its eyes— did it have eyes?— did not blink. Its arms were too long, or too short, as were its legs. Did it have two or three? She couldn’t tell. Its mouth was not lipped, it was a void.  
  
And then she blinked, and it was a conglomeration of mouths, all moving differently and not quite correctly. It asked her a single question: “What do you seek?” but it echoed around her. She could not think of an answer. Thoughts swam through her head like flies through honey, slowly and painfully, sticking but dying off. Without speaking, it asked her again. It was now a mass of ears and eyes, all pointed at her. She shifted under its gaze.  
  
“I… do not know,” she choked out as its void filled her lungs. Some sort of viscous fluid— the honey she had been thinking about, perhaps— drained out of its eyes and mouth. Tentacles arced out of shoulder blades that were not there. Her reflection, corrupted and empty stared at her for just a moment, before the horns receded and organs covered its face. Hands. A million hands reached out at her, boneless and barely brushing her skin. Despite her disgust, she found herself longing for its touch. To be known, every inch of her, and to know The Everlasting, and every inch of it. But it could not be measured in inches, and drew back for just a moment, before forming into its abstract form of eyes and mouths and ears.  
  
Her final word bounced around her, digging itself under her skin and into her very bones. To know. Knowing was the ultimate reward, The Everlasting told her. But it did not say that. It simply said— no, it asked, beckoning her for knowledge— “Know?”  
  
Now the pulpit was bathed in pale sunlight, warm and soft on her face. The room behind her, the archway she entered from, was the part shrouded and unknown. But she did know, now, and as she knelt she felt the oppressive force slowly draw back. The tangle of tentacles and eyes and hands was still in front of her, still staring at her, and it allowed her to stare back this time. She was on her knees willingly, now, tempted just far enough to nod.  
  
Not moving, it nodded back.


End file.
